


Ascendance

by Webtrinsic



Series: Mand'alor Ahsoka Tano [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Gets a Hug, Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Ahsoka Tano-centric, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Ahsoka Tano, Darth Maul Dies, Death Watch (Star Wars), Duchess Ahsoka, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eyeliner, Family Reunions, Foundling, Home, Mand'alor (Star Wars), Mand'alor Ahsoka Tano, Mandalorian Adoption (Star Wars), Mandalorian Ahsoka Tano, Mandalorian Armor (Star Wars), Responsibility, The Mandalorian Darksaber (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28736418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webtrinsic/pseuds/Webtrinsic
Summary: Ahsoka Tano becomes a foundling and then the Mand'alor all in the same week. She's the ruler they've been waiting for.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Darth Maul & Ahsoka Tano, Morai & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano
Series: Mand'alor Ahsoka Tano [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127162
Comments: 10
Kudos: 151





	Ascendance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BethanyAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethanyAngel/gifts).



> there's a tiktok of ahsoka with smudged black eyeliner, and let's just say it's the inspiration for this because she looks stunning in it

The little wooden pencil in her pocket had been a small parting gift from Rafa. She’d never been one for makeup, the Jedi often seeing it as a form of vanity unless it was cultural, but Ahsoka isn’t a Jedi anymore. She is a foundling, a foundling with a black smudged waterline that acts as warpaint.

Beskar hugs her features and Ahsoka trains in Mandalore’s ways. This place is her new home, one she will defend with her life. 

The heart of Mandalore is prominent on her chest, and although she was older than most foundlings, many of the people who see her and the mark on her chest, look at her will and fight and accept her with open arms.

There’s some whispers running about, her connection to the force isn’t a secret, and the story of Tarre Vizsla is often told to her with intrigued interested eyes. As if they see her taking his place, or trying to pinpoint if that’s what she’s here to do.

It’s not her intention, and they seem to realize that soon enough. But she sees some people rooting for her. Maul has overtaken the death watch, and the people know it will be her and Bo-katan facing him.

Except Ahsoka is sure when the people pledge allegiance in deflecting Maul’s rule, they’re looking at her and not the princess.

* * *

Maul attacks and the Jedi do nothing to help; there hasn't been a chance of alliance between the Jedi and Mandalore since the death of Satine, but their lack of action in defeating a pseudo sith lord that is their responsibility, all bets are off.

When the attack begins, Ahsoka twirls two dazzling white sabers that steal Maul’s breath away. He doesn’t know who she is, but he knows she is powerful, and someone eerily like him.

He offers his hand, a place at his side, begs her to ascend and rule this planet and potentially the world with him. His force signature jumps at her own, begging her light to stand beside his dark, and she is so close to reaching out until his cluelessness has his mouth running.

Saying all the wrong things. 

There is truth in there, but she is right when she moves into position, “Your vision is flawed,” Anakin Skywalker does not fall, the clones do not turn on their masters, the republic is overthrown, and it is every planet for themselves.

* * *

When the death watch steps into the destroyed throne room, Bo-Katan’s body is cold with shattered pieces of glass piled on top of it, and Darth Maul is severed down the middle and across the torso. 

There's more broken pieces of glass on the floor, and on the throne, strewn apart with stilted authority is Ahsoka Tano with beautifully smudged black eyeliner and the heart of Mandalore glimmering with splattered blood on her chest.

The darksaber is cradled in her hand, and the grin she gives is all teeth and sharp canines.

Mandalore had found its Mand’alor, and she was a ruler worth waiting for.

* * *

The armorer is vicious with her training and Ahsoka appreciates it even if she isn’t thrilled with the bruises she was acquiring. But she’d been trained for this, it’s just another work out that left her oh so refreshed.

The golden woman constructs a helmet befitting of their new queen, empress, and Ahsoka wears it with pride. Mand’oa chittering from her tongue with elegance. The rest of her armor was carefully constructed as well, an outlawed pair of Shuk’orok gloves on her hands, and three sabers on her belt.

This is a new age, and their now horned helmets symbolize it in the best way possible.

* * *

When Morai shows up no one questions the convor trailing their leader. Ahsoka is not concerned so they don’t question it. Ahsoka wonders idly if the Jedi at the temple had wondered what the convor’s deal was when Morai followed her throughout the temple’s halls.

Not even Anakin had said a thing about it, just raised his brow in a way that displayed both confusion and concern. Now the mandalorian’s watch with awe and fascination as she poises her hand in the air as if she were doing ballet before that luscious jade bird flew in and landed on her wrist.

In fact the image alone was stained in glass, the window that her and Maul had broken filled in with murals of her new empire. Her fight with Maul, and her holding two sabers: one a blistering white and the other the darkest obsidian.

Her fingers run over the glass with reverence. 

This is home.

* * *

She’d kept Maul’s saber, it sits on the mantel in her bedroom, a trophy. His kyber crystals ache, and at times she wonders if she should purify those crystals but she has no intention of making the saber her own, she wants to remember the victory for what it was, as it was.

The battle had been bloody and as sad as it was to say there had been some connection there. His hatred is in those crystals, and his hatred had brought her this victory. It kept her on guard, and it stopped this new position from getting to her head.

She wouldn’t purify his crystals, nor would she move the saber from the safe haven of her bedroom. 

When Morai makes a perch out of it later, she laughs until she cries, the war is over, she had survived, and she had become something more.

She’d ascended, and she’d done it all on her own. Without the council and without Anakin. She trusted herself yet again. Ahsoka had been under the belief that when she finally had come to terms with that fact she’d return to the Jedi and beg Anakin to be at his side. Except now, the force is brighter than it’s ever been in her lifetime. It shrouds her in a cloud that leaves no room for doubt. This is where the force wants her to be, where the Mandalorians want her to be as well.

Meaning it is up to her to figure out if this is where _she_ wants to be, and it should have been a long confusing answer, but it’s not. This is home, and although there is guilt that she had to leave those she loved to finally find the place she belonged. No matter where she is, she’ll never stop loving them.

She just has to tell them that, and trust they understood that as well.

* * *

When she looks in the mirror there's the worried notion that she may not recognize herself, but when she looks in the glass although her lekku are longer and her montrals are taller; it is undoubtedly her, smudged eyeliner and all.

Morai flaps over to sit on her shoulder, and the smallest burst of relieved giggles escapes her lips. The bird coos as her tangerine fingers pet its head, jade eyes closing contently, stomach vibrating appreciatively.

Ahsoka’s lips curl and her eyes close, basking in this moment because she knows as all things do, they end.

* * *

The darksaber is different from her own, it’s hilt is more squared than rounded, the blades tip is angled, and it’s color is unnatural. Then again, many would say the same if they saw her own white sabers.

When she’s bored, she clashes the colors together, the black and white shudder. The lovely hissing noise as the blades meet send shivers down her spine, and she doesn’t know how long she sits on the edge of her bed tapping those blades together just to hear the sound.

She sees the crossing even when she closes her eyes, the mesmerizing meeting of power invigorating her soul. 

The act of introducing the sabers becomes a nightly routine, one that calms her and settles her force signature after the stress of her days.

It’s nothing she cannot handle, but it isn’t possible to run a whole planet without some anxiety. Everythings been going smoothly, more so than that actually, but there will always be some part of her waiting for something to go wrong.

Eventually something will, and all she can do now is get ready for that, so that’s what she does day in and day out. She prepares for war, for famine, disease, and every other possibility that can send them toppling to the ground.

They are still a people of battle and war, and when people try to visit their planet, rogue serpartist still fighting for a cause that has effectively been beaten, she lets the people do what they must- _want_.

Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised so many sith and sepratist have come to Mandalore looking for sanctuary, likely truly desperate and banking on their volatile nature. But her people do not forgive them, and she doesn’t either, although she is not vicious enough to tear them limb from limb like her warriors do.

But she does raise her blades and grit her teeth when factions of these monsters invade her world in a desperate attempt to rob them of their Beskar. The people cheer as she fights by their side to the bitter end, blood splattering over her armor and over the facial markings painted on top.

The darksaber rips through the invaders in the same way the tatooine suns melt ice, and she even impales a sleemo with the sharp points on her helmet.

She freezes at a familiar face within the crowd, Lux standing over the slain body of Korkie Kryze, and her lips, the ones he forcibly kissed all those years ago pulled into a snarl. The darksaber eviscerates him as well, and she walks over his corpse on the battlefield knowing the boy never really changed. 

She did.

* * *

Mandalore isn’t formally looking for alliances, they’re not exactly needed. The planets were actually thriving without the senate in control, uprises occurring and slavery being abolished most places because the people couldn’t stand the world that they now knew for sure were doing nothing for them even then.

She oddly respected that.

But Ahsoka is honestly taken aback at the shuttle on it’s way down to the planet's surface. The Jedi are here, trying to scope out the intricacies of their thriving government, the armorer and her second in command look to her, wondering what to do, what is to come.

She lets them proceed, she hadn’t thought the Jedi would be so bold, especially when word broke out they were thrown from the Jedi temple itself. Pushed to the lower levels of Coruscant to atone for their blind sins.

Her nerves twist, but she is eager to see how things play out. They don’t know it is her ruling this glorious place, that she the one they cast out is the Mand’alor. 

Settling the helmet on her head, she sits upon the throne and waits for them to approach.

Mandalorians line the walls, ready for battle that she knows they will win. The door pops, and Anakin, Obi-Wan, and an apparently newly knighted mon calamari stand before her.

The mon calamari’s energy is all off, the force around him spiraling, the dark side pulling at him. She can tell he’s about to jump off the edge, Ahsoka knows Anakin and Obi-Wan feel it as well and are just as concerned.

Knowing it’s Obi-Wan’s job to negotiate which often means flirt, she spares them that awkwardness and pulls her helmet off before they can speak.

“Hello there,” it’s cheeky and the least composed she’s been in a while. Morai swings and flutters through the open door, flying above the men’s heads and startling them before landing on her extended palm.

“Ahsoka,” her master wheezes.

Smiling at the bird, Ahsoka briefly forgets she’s in the company of her family. Lifting her hand further, Morai follows her lead and moves to perch on the top of her throne. Standing from her spot, the moment she does the mon calamari ignites his saber.

“No!” both Obi-Wan and Anakin shout, freezing at the guns now pointed at them. Ahsoka doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything really, just stares, her smeared eyes pinched as if asking what he was about to do.

It’s obvious her former master’s don’t know what he’s doing either.

“I’m sick of this, I’m sick of the Jedi. The disrespect, I’m kriffing done. I formally challenge you for the title of Mand’alor!” This isn’t how she wanted their reunion to go.

Her tone is daunting, dripping with seriousness, “So you formally renounce the Jedi, and challenge me with no association to them whatsoever?” she and her people are not ready for another war even if at times they want one. 

“None whatsoever,” he’s growling, ready to go.

His blade drips from green to red, and her back straightens, “And you understand this is a fight to the death?”

“Yes,” he shouts, and she spares her horrified, helpless Masters a glance. All of them are plagued with the knowledge she is helpless as well, helpless to refuse, because she doesn’t want to kill him, but she refuses to lose her title.

Taking out the dark saber and positioning it infront of her, her white shoto blade ignited behind her. Anakin and Obi-Wan take in the sight with wide eyes and are forcibly pulled back by the mandalorians lining the wall, pulling them out of the way and stopping them from any chance of intervention.

She’d prefer to take things outside, but her opponent is raring to fight and likely won’t listen to her suggestion, so she sighs, “I accept,”

* * *

Obi-Wan and Anakin are let go, and a mandalorian drags the mon calamari’s body from the room, Ahsoka breathes in and out through her nose, excusing every mandalorian from the room hurriedly.

Anakin stares at her with parted lips and Obi-Wan is still watching the door.

“I’m sorry about that,” she apologizes, even though there’s really no need for her to. It’d been inevitable, if a little grizzly.

“Us too,” Obi-Wan sighs. Rubbing his forehead as Ahsoka softly approaches the two, unsure and shy. She shrugs, knowing that it wasn’t their fault.

Anakin doesn’t wait any longer, rushing forward and lifting her clean off the ground. Her arms lock right back on, and her tears mix with her makeup breaking down her face and spoiling his tunic where she’s pressed against his shoulder.

It smears up the side of his neck as she presses closer, their bond pulling from the dust and reigniting. For a moment when she hears a sound from Obi-Wan she believes he’s going to chasten them for their obvious attachment and the dangerous affection they are displaying, but his arms coil around them, and she feels his tears against her shoulder while Anakin’s run down her lekku.

They topple to the ground in a heap and they sob without remorse. There is no judgment here, only love, and a war put behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> Snap: allisonw1122  
> Tumblr/twitter: webtrinsic1122  
> Insta:Webtrinsic


End file.
